Voices Carry (22 page)

The roast beef left from Saturday’s dinner caught her eye, and she sliced some thinly to top a bowl of mixed greens and bright wedges of tomato that Patsy had brought with her.

“They’re not from Frick’s, you understand,” Patsy had told her with a touch of apology. It wasn’t necessary for her to explain why she’d gone someplace else for her produce.

“I’m so sorry, Pats.” Genna touched her shoulder.

Patsy shrugged and turned away.

“You miss seeing Mrs. Frick.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do. She’s a dear, dear lady.”

“Surely you don’t think she blames you. . . ?”

“Of course not. Their stand’s not been open these past few weeks. I heard they were trucking everything down to the market in Wick’s Grove.” Patsy grabbed a paper towel and cleaned an imaginary spot from the counter. “But on the bright side, I did get to meet the people who bought the Dreshers’ farm, over on the other side of the lake. Their produce is quite nice. And they’ve been busy as all getout since the competition closed.” Patsy folded the towel and smoothed it out as if it was made of linen instead of paper. “It’s just a shame, that’s all.”

“Have the bikers been around?” Genna asked.

“Sometimes one or two of ’em might go by,” Patsy shrugged, “but I haven’t noticed that they so much as slow down when they do. They just drive by, minding their own business. I figure they’ve just found themselves a nice little shortcut around the lake.”

“Does Kenny Harris know about that?”

“Sure does. He’s sitting on his duff out there on the front porch every time they go past, but they really don’t bother anyone.”

“Does Brian know?”

“I suspect so, since after they leave, Kenny picks up the phone and makes a call. I imagine he’s following Brian’s orders to call him every time someone who doesn’t belong on the lake shows up.”

Genna had said nothing further on the subject, but had made a mental note to call Brian as soon as she got into the office the following morning.

“I hear Aunt Patsy has taken in another little bird.” Brian picked up as soon as he heard it was Genna on the line.

“Then I guess you’ve heard who that little bird might be.”

“Gen, I’m delighted for you. I know you’ve had to have been missing her all these years.”

“I have. And she’s missed out on so much—I’m assuming that Patsy told you all about Crystal’s illness?”

“Yes. But I’m betting that a few weeks with Aunt Pats will work wonders.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that by the end of the summer, Chrissie will be an entirely different person.”

“Now, let me guess what’s behind this call.” Brian pretended to ponder for a moment. “Let’s see, could you be calling for a rundown on what my security guard has come up with over the past few weeks?”

“You know me all too well, Brian.”

“I’ve been expecting the call. It’s not like you to take no interest in such things.”

Genna could hear the rustling of some papers.

“Here we go,” Brian was saying. “I’ve been keeping a log. We’ve had daily runs past the house by several of your biker buddies. The guard has film of this activity, by the way, so we’ve been able to identify most of them.”

“Were any of them arrested in the Frick case?”

“No. So far as we can tell, that group is maintaining a pretty low profile. Which of course means nothing when you’re dealing with criminals.”

“So they made bail?”

“Oh, yes. The Amish fellows didn’t, but the bikers were out as soon as they could get the cash counted.”

“I thought bail was set steep.”

“It was. But these guys are part of a larger organization. Money is usually no object for this sort of thing.” Brian paused, as if reading. “Yes, it looks like daily runs past the house, but they’ve never stopped. I think it’s more an intimidation tactic than anything else at this point.”

“They obviously don’t know Patsy,” Genna murmured.

Brian laughed out loud. “You’re right. If they did, they’d realize they’re wasting their time. It would take a hell of a lot more than a few scruffy looking guys on motorcycles going past her house to intimidate her.”

“But you’re certain they’ve never stopped. . .”

“Positive. Not once. If they did, Aunt Pats would probably have invited them to join her for iced tea and homemade pound cake on the deck.”

“I’m hoping she’s taking this more seriously than that.”

“You know Pats. She truly believes there’s good in everyone, and if you dig deep enough you’ll find it.”

“What if they came at night, from the back of the house. From the lake side. . .”

“We’d know before it would happen.”

“How? Does Kenny Harris have night vision? Doesn’t he ever sleep?”

“The D.A.’s office has someone on the inside.” Brian said softly.

“You mean one of the bikers—”

“—is C.I.D., yes.”

“So you’re not worried?”

“I’m concerned, but not worried,” Brian replied after a moment’s hesitation. “Between our
undercover man and Harris watching the cottage, I feel we’re about as secure as we can be. We’re also keeping an eye on all of the new people at the lake, particularly the renters.”

“A little off the record background check?”

“A very little. I’m justifying it under the classification of ‘forewarned.’ Nothing heavy. No wire tapping or surveillance cameras on the unsuspecting.” Brian chuckled. “We leave that sort of thing to you guys.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve never engaged in such activity.” Genna pretended to be offended.

“Right. And I’m Howdy Doody.”

“So did you learn anything relevant about Patsy’s neighbors?”

“Not really. There really weren’t any surprises, actually.”

“That’s no surprise,” Genna said. “Most people who go to places like Bricker’s Lake aren’t looking for much more than peace and quiet.”

“So it would seem. Though there is that next door neighbor of Patsy’s. . .”

“Nancy?” Genna asked. “What about her?”

“We really couldn’t find much on her. Of course, we didn’t ask for more than the preliminary. We just didn’t turn up anything on her. She could be recently divorced and returning to her maiden name, who knows? My mother would say she told us so.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My mother doesn’t much care for this woman.”

“Why not? Nancy’s pleasant enough, the little I’ve seen of her, and she’s been wonderful company for Pats this summer.”

“I’m sure she has been. And frankly, I’m thinking
that might be the biggest part of it. Maybe Mom’s afraid that Nancy’s better company for Aunt Pats than she is. Mom doesn’t think much of the security guard either, by the way.”

“Patsy doesn’t seem to care for him, either. Thinks he’s odd.”

“He’s a bit of an oddball,” Brian agreed, “but he’s apparently quite good at what he does.”

“May I ask how you found him?”

“He came on a reference from a friend who had used him earlier in the summer. I’m not at all concerned about whether or not either Mom or Aunt Pats likes him, as long as he’s doing his job. Which, so far, he’s been doing.”

“I admit I feel a little better knowing that he’s there. And better still knowing someone’s keeping an eye on our bikers from the inside.”

“If anything comes up, of course, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I think you can just go about your business of rounding up the bad guys and let me worry about Pats.”

“And Crystal,” Genna added.

“Yes, of course. And Crystal.”

After inquiring after Brian’s wife, Allison, and their three sons, Genna hung up the phone, feeling infinitely better than she had when she’d placed the call. Knowing that others were keeping their eyes on Patsy had removed a heavy load from Genna’s shoulders. Now, especially that her sister had joined Patsy at the lake, it was good to know that they weren’t quite so vulnerable.

That bit of her life tidied up, Genna turned to the business at hand, that being her review of an interview with the mother of a recent kidnapping victim.
She had read through to the second to the last page when Decker’s voice jumped at her through the intercom.

“Genna, you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Get in here. Now.” Though not raised above conversational level, there was a tenseness to his voice that brought Genna out of her seat without a second thought.

Assuming that “here” was Decker’s office, Genna practically ran down the hallway. Sharon pointed to the open door as Genna reached the secretary’s desk, and without a word, Genna hurried in to the cool office.

Decker was standing in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips, staring at the television that sat upon the credenza opposite the desk. Genna took the chair he motioned her toward, and sat down, leaning toward the screen to see what crisis had developed while she was typing up her report that morning.

“What’s going on?” Genna asked. “What’s happened?”

Ignoring her questions as if he hadn’t heard her, Decker reached for the remote control and increased the volume.

“Sir?” She repeated. “What’s going on?”

“The shit, as they say, Agent Snow, is about to hit the fan.”

A trim man in his forties—obviously a law enforcement type, with his close cropped hair and the requisite dark suit—stood at a podium, adjusting the microphone even as he spoke.

“. . . in touch with the other police departments and will be sharing what little information we have
with each other and with the FBI. Yes. . . the gentleman in the red tie in the second row. . .”

The man at the podium pointed with his index finger, and the camera followed, resting on the man who stood in the center of the row of folding chairs, each of which was occupied. The man’s lips moved, and he gestured several times with his arms, but the microphone failed to pick up his words.

“The question is,” the man at the podium repeated for the sake of those not close enough to have heard, “why has it taken the FBI so long to figure out that there is a serial killer running loose at will all around the country. I think I’ll let the FBI answer that.”

He stepped aside and was replaced at the podium with a tall, thin man with a faint dusting of light brown hair on the crown of his head.

“That’s Rex Egan,” Decker told her.

“Yes, I know. What is he—”

“Shhhh,” Decker hushed her. “Listen.”

“First of all, no one. . . let me repeat that emphatically,
no one
has said that any of the missing women have been killed, so your use of the term ‘serial killer’ is irresponsible and inaccurate. We believe what we have here is a series of abductions which may or may not turn out to be related. But no one has come forward with any evidence to suggest that any of these women are dead. There are, however, striking similarities common to all of the disappearances that have led us to believe they are related, and we are proceeding on that theory.”

“What are those similarities?” a reporter close to the podium asked. “What evidence do you have to indicate that there is in fact a. . . let’s use the term serial abductor, for lack of something better.”

“Actually, the most striking bit of evidence is that there is no evidence at all.” Egan cleared his throat as the murmur from the crowd began to rise. “Each of the victims has disappeared into thin air, literally, while in the course of their own daily, well-established routines.”

“But I thought Chief Halloran said earlier that these abductions have taken place all over the country, in no particular order,” a woman near the back of the seating area rose to ask. “How can a random series of kidnappings—”

Egan interrupted her.

“No one used the word
random.
On the contrary, we believe that the abductor is following a very highly organized plan in a very specific order.”

“And that plan is. . . ?” a man in a brown sports jacket and casual khaki pants asked.

“Known only to the abductor.”

“But if he’s not killing them, what’s he doing with them?”

“That’s an excellent question. Unfortunately, we don’t know.”

“Have you been able to develop a profile?”

“Only a very sketchy one. We believe that he’s white—all of his victims are white, and as you all know from all the law enforcement TV you watch, crimes such as these are usually perpetrated within the same race. He’s male, between the ages of thirty and fifty. Physically strong enough to overcome the victims with no apparent struggle. He’s very smart, and very adaptable. A chameleon of sorts. He’s been able to fit in every place he’s been without being seen. On not one occasion has a witness come forward with a description. Which means he’s studied
his victims well, well enough to know exactly how to blend in completely enough as to become invisible. He’s patient enough to plan things through and choose his moment. We believe that he’s researched the routines of his victims over a period of time so that he knows where they go and what they do and when they will be most vulnerable. That would imply that he has mobility, time on his hands, and a source of income or enough cash that he can travel around the country at will. He’s probably a loner—lives alone, there’d be too much explaining to do. There’s been no gap between abductions longer than a week, and that only in the beginning.”

A long, dull silence spread throughout the room as Egan’s words sunk in.

A question was asked off camera.

“The question is, How many victims have there been?” Egan repeated. “Seven, that we know of. But there could have been more. One of the reasons why we’re here talking about this today is so that other police departments across the country who may be investigating similar disappearances will get in touch with us and share what information they have.”

“But with the number of people who go missing on any given day. . .” someone said.

“This is different,” Egan shook his head. “These have been very specific, deliberate acts. These are not runaway teenagers or women who have run off with the pool boy. Many are solid, professional women, most of them happily married with young children to whom they are devoted, with absolutely no apparent reason to leave home. So you can eliminate many
of the other unfortunate missing persons reports because they don’t fit the pattern.”